Masques of Gold (55 page)

Ninias was large-eyed with excitement, but Witta's eyes were red, his face streaked with smeared tears. “Do not weep,” Justin snarled at him. “Your mistress will come to no harm, and we will have her back before morning.”

The boy's face brightened and he ran forward and kissed Justin's hand. Unable to speak for a moment, Justin laid his other hand on the child's head. His chest hurt and he had to fight a cramp that threatened to bend him double, but when the pain passed he had back his voice.

“Now go back to my house,” he said to Witta, “and tell Halsig and Dick to summon every member of the watch—every troop leader to gather his troop—all to be full armed and to come by ones and twos, quietly, not to be seen by the soldiers, to my house. I will be there before full dark to give further orders. Say nothing more than that.”

Because he had no idea what more to say. Worse even than the pain in his chest and belly was the strange lightness, emptiness, in his head. He had no idea why he was summoning the watch, no more than he knew what he wanted with Ninias, who was waiting so eagerly, lips parted, for his task. But his mouth opened and he found himself naming five men of the watch and giving the boy direction to their lodgings. “Try the lodgings first,” he said, “then the nearest alehouse, then go on to the next man. Finally go to my house and tell Halsig to send those men to me when they come in. Try for Dunstan first.”

Justin did not hear or see Ninias run off. The five names had meant nothing when he reeled them off at first; they were simply five men of the watch who were trustworthy and strong, whom he had called on for special duty in the past. When he said Dunstan's name last, he realized they were the five men who had accompanied him to Canterbury. Alone in the solar, he was not ashamed to raise his hands to his head and groan as understanding burst on him.

First, Lissa had not an enemy in the entire world—even Master John and Master Chigwell were now on the best of terms with her—so it was no personal enemy who had taken her. As Justin had known without reasons from the first, he was the cause. But he was no longer the chief hunter of evildoers of London, and no man needed to hold his wife hostage to save himself from the gallows or the headsman's ax. That someone might have killed her in pure revenge, he put aside. She would have been found by now.

All his activities since leaving his position had to do with the charter, but Justin had discovered in a long day's discussion, which included nearly every man of any importance in the city, that beyond small arguments over this or that article, no one opposed the charter. Even Serlo, the mayor appointed by the rebels, wanted the charter. All were eager to welcome Archbishop Langton to London and settle their differences with the king.

Justin stared at the back wall where the open window showed the setting sun staining the clouds red and gold. West. In the west was Baynard's Castle and the one man in London who hated the king beyond reason and did not want the charter affirmed. But what, Justin asked himself, did FitzWalter think he could do to prevent the charter from being accepted? It was the archbishop who would—Justin shuddered. Stephen Langton trusted him. Would the price of Lissa's life be the archbishop's death? Then his blood ran warm again and his eyes lit. If he could get proof of that demand, FitzWalter's own kin would turn on him.

Drawing a breath and unclamping his jaws, Justin reminded himself that Lissa was safe and unhurt.
If
she was safe and unhurt, his purpose was to keep her that way, not to gain vengeance for a few hours of anxiety or to make FitzWalter his enemy for life. What he needed was a weapon against FitzWalter that could be kept secret, to be used only if he or Lissa was threatened or hurt. Hurt…weapon…knife…Hubert! He had the man's knife. He had witnesses to Hubert's attempts on his life. Many could testify that Hubert was FitzWalter's man. There was his weapon.

Supporting himself on the arms of the chair, Justin got to his feet. When he was steady, he lit candles; then he went into the bedchamber and got Lissa's writing desk. He wrote a complete case against FitzWalter for the murder of his agent, William Bowles, by the hand of his servant, Hubert de Bosco. By the time Richard and Thomas, who had both been home, as tired as he, came riding up, he had added the evidence of Hubert's attempts to silence him by taking his life as well.

Justin told his cousins what had happened in as few words as possible, gave the parchment and FitzWalter's pass, which he had not returned, to Richard, and told him to go out of the city at once. Thomas he bade go into hiding until morning, and his quick-witted cousin named a whore's house that they both knew. Justin nodded. What he had written, he reminded both as he embraced them, was his safety line; he hoped it would be enough to save him. If it was not, they had no obligation to use the information, and certainly not if that use would endanger themselves or the charter.

They were out of the house before the last light had faded from the sky, and Justin breathed a sigh of relief. Richard would have time to get through the gates. Paul came in before he got out of his chair to say that Dunstan was below and to ask what more he could do.

“Help me into my armor,” Justin said.

“Let me come with you,” Paul begged.

Justin put a hand on his shoulder as he stood up. “I am sorry, you cannot. Someone must be here. The boys are too young and Oliva too timid. If I am mistaken in what I believe and Lissa was taken for some other reason, like ransom, someone must carry that word to me.”

There was a brief silence in which Justin's hand closed a little too tight on Paul's shoulder, and Paul knew he had not said
or
if
her
body
is
found
. He lifted his eyes and asked, “Where?”

“Until full dark, to my house. After that…to Baynard's Castle.” Paul's eyes widened, but his teeth set a moment later and he nodded, and Justin continued, “Call Dunstan up. I can get into the arming tunic myself.”

To the man-at-arms he said, “Put your sword into some kind of pack on your back and put a rag of a tunic over your armor. Then go idle about as close to Baynard's Castle as you can get. I will meet you at the southeast corner by the brush near the riverbank at Compline or a little after. I want to know, if you can find out, how many guards are watching the walls and whether they are on full alert, with extra torches and suchlike.”

The next two men who came he gave the same orders, but he had grown too restless to wait longer and told Paul to send the two others after him. Justin went to the shed in the back to saddle Noir himself, shuddering with eagerness one minute and the next telling himself that he would bring the whole rescue to disaster if he was not cautious. He could not afford to draw the attention of the barons' men-at-arms, who had replaced the watch, and he would certainly do so if he tried to move his men through the streets like an army.

Fortunately that idea was still uppermost in his mind when he reached his house. It was so quiet, only dim light showing, that Justin's heart sank; but when he opened the door he found the room so packed with men that he could barely get in, all standing in groups, silent except for the creak of leather as they shifted and, now that he had come, a hissing of whisper. Halsig said the rest were in the kitchen and the yard, that he had ordered two clever men to repeat Justin's words exactly to those who could not hear. Then Justin almost wept because they were all faithful, and the quiet showed they knew their action would be secret and doubtless be a move against the army that held the city.

He told them the truth simply, that he believed but as yet had no proof that FitzWalter had taken his wife hostage to control him. He wished for that reason to enter Baynard's Castle quietly to prove or disprove his point. They were to remember, he told them, that they were not a conquering army; they were still the watch. They were to prevent FitzWalter's men from interfering with him, but not to start any fight, nor to loot, nor to burn. “There is a greater army outside the walls, remember. If you commit outrages, that army might be called in and loosed on the city. If we cause no damage, there will be no trouble and you will have your full day's wages from me for a few hours' work.”

“I want my place back,” one man muttered. “Can't we be rid of those foreign dogs?”

“God willing,” Justin said, “the king and the barons will agree on the charter I brought last night from the archbishop. God willing, if it is signed, the barons will leave the city and take their army with them and you will all have your places back.”

“And you to be master again, my lord?” another asked.

“That I do not know. For tonight I am master, so obey me. Halsig, get the captains of the troops in here.”

He gave them orders for getting to Baynard's Castle in small groups and waiting there, out of sight, for further orders. He made sure all the group captains knew Dick, who would pass orders from him if Halsig could not, and he felt again as if blood were running out of his heart and he would faint with weakness and impatience. Hardly looking, he designated in which order the troops would leave, lifted a fisted hand in farewell, and went out. Halsig caught him just outside the door and began to talk about tactics.

“What tactics?” Justin said. “I am known to the guards there, and I doubt FitzWalter has informed all his men that he has my wife. I will ask entry for myself and my men, saying I must speak with FitzWalter. The men will be you, Dick, Dunstan, John, and Edgar. As we come in, we will seize the gate—silently if we can, but any way we can. You and Dick will go for the rest of the men and bring them in. I and the others will find Lissa. If I am refused entry will be soon enough to talk tactics.”

***

Lissa found herself alone, crumpled on the floor just as she had fallen. She was not even blessed with a moment of confusion; as her senses returned, so did her memory of her situation. One circumstance alone changed; she had never expected to wake, and she had. Thus, no matter his final intentions toward her, FitzWalter also apparently intended to let her live until he had extracted every bit of information and every idea she had.

Lissa lay quietly on the floor, unmoving except for that first twist of the head that showed FitzWalter's chair to be empty. The other man could have been in the shadows, but he would have spoken. No, she was alone. If someone was looking in on her now and again, let him think her still out of her senses. Every few minutes was that much longer time in which Justin might learn she was missing and begin to search for her. But perhaps she was lying in discomfort for nothing. It must be night by now. Perhaps FitzWalter had gone to bed.

Tears came into her eyes with the thought because it was so lovely and so unlikely. She had heard the mad insistence in FitzWalter's voice when he demanded that she remember about the seal. She would do her very best. She would tell him anything and everything that might give him hope that she would remember more, but what was she to do about the treason he had spoken in her hearing? Could she pretend the faint had erased it from her mind? Yes, that would be best. She could not pretend to be so stupid as not to have understood him. He might kill her out of hand for being that idiotic.

Lissa had no idea how long she had been lying there when she heard the latch move, the door creak, and FitzWalter say, “Pick her up and slap her. That will bring her back.”

Since Lissa had no desire to be abused if she could avoid it, by the time he entered she had turned around and was sitting with her back against the bench. She was relieved when he gestured the other man out and closed the door behind him.

“Get up,” he said, but he did not shout at her. He sat down again and waited until she levered herself up onto the bench before he asked, “Where is the seal Peter de Flael was supposed to give your father as your bride price?”

Lissa sat gaping with shock, eyes and mouth open, before she got her mouth closed and swallowed hard. Because her immediate fear had diminished greatly, she had suddenly realized where the seal might be. The words “bride price” had made their natural connection in her mind with “bride gift”—the dolphin necklet. And that brought with it the whole associated train of thought—her contempt of a client's reject, which meant Peter cared so little for her that he could not be bothered to design and make a personal piece, and her wonder that if he was so indifferent, he should bother to make with his own hands so elaborate and beautiful a box to hold the gift.

If the seal existed, it must be in the box, which had been constructed to hold it, not to please her—most likely the box must have a false bottom and it must be there. The pins holding the new lining had come through the top of the box—Justin had pricked his finger on one—but they had not come through the bottom! She knew that because now she recalled that there were no bright places to show Paul had filed off the points. Fortunately her thoughts came swiftly and FitzWalter was making allowance for what he believed was a weak and disordered state. He did no more in the minute or two Lissa stared and blinked and swallowed than shift restlessly in his chair.

“I do not know,” she croaked as soon as she could find her voice, and then, lying fervently because she knew the moment after she answered his question she would die, she added, “I swear, if I knew I would tell you gladly. I will try to remember whatever I can. You said Peter did not give it to my father at the wedding and his sons did not take it. But Peter has another house near Canterbury. Could it be there?”

“No,” FitzWalter said shortly. “Neither he nor his sons left the city after your father spoke to them, and we made sure of anyone else who went there.”

“He had a favorite whore,” Lissa said. “I do not know her name and Binge is dead, but I am sure some of Peter's friends must know who she is. It was no secret. His sons knew of her.”